


The Dungeon Master

by jynzandtonic



Category: Adam Driver Character Universe, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Choking, Cock Warming, Creampie, Crying, Exhibitionism, F/M, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, JFC I'm depraved anyway here's the fic, MATT CALLS YOU 'MUFFIN', MATT IS A MEAN DOM, MATT PLAYS D&D, Mean Dom!Matt, Other, Painful Sex, Pussy Spanking, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Slapping, Squirting, Verbal Debasement, Verbal Degradation, Voyeurism, but like... you're into it, degradation kink, feral!Matt, hooooo BOY, mentions of anal, mouth spitting, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28004460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jynzandtonic/pseuds/jynzandtonic
Summary: Matt plays Dungeons & Dragons with the Starkiller Boys every Thursday night, and hedoesn'ttake kindly to interruptions... but this Thursday you're in serious need of some dick, and you think you might just risk it for the biscuit.
Relationships: Matt The Radar Technician/You, Matt the Radar Technician/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	1. Roll the Dice

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr [@jynzandtonic!](jynzandtonic.tumblr.com) ʕ •ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡  
> ················································

__

_Fuck Thursday nights._ You huff out a sigh and drop the remote with a thud, certain there’s not a single show on Netflix that could distract you from the throb between your thighs.

It’s a dangerous combo, this: bored and horny on Matt’s couch. 

Well, he’s generally quick to address either of those moods with a good, hard fucking—the kind that makes you walk funny the next day—but today is Thursday… and that means it’s Matt’s D&D night with the ‘Starkiller Boys.’ Sure, he thinks they’re all fucking idiots, but that never seems to stop him from gluing himself to their Discord server’s video channel for, like, 97 fucking hours every Thursday night. 

You’re glad he has friends or whatever. He’s kind of a freak, so that’s good. Good for him. And it’s great he has a hobby besides his pet chinchilla. It’s great. It’s all great. Except for the fact you’re going to sublimate if you don’t get some hard dick fifteen minutes ago. 

Pressing your head back into the couch cushions, you work your hand down the front of your pants—humming with a shred of relief as your fingers slip under your waistband, press into the slick cleft of your pussy, stroke along the length of your swollen clit. 

You’re soaked, needy, greedy. You rub tight circles right where you need it, rocking your hips into your hand as the pressure builds. 

You could make yourself cum like this, yeah, but not the way _he_ could make you cum. 

Matt doesn’t take kindly to interruptions. You know you’ll be in _big_ fucking trouble if you try distracting him from his campaign… but maybe you _want_ to be in big fucking trouble. 

It’s a dangerous combo, but you’ll roll the dice on it. 

You lick your cum-slicked fingers clean and shuck off your shirt and bra, letting them fall to the floor next to the abandoned remote. Chest bared, you pinch and twist and roll your nipples stiff, opening up your phone’s front-facing camera. You suck your index and middle fingers into your mouth suggestively, angling the camera to frame your tits and lips perfectly. 

Snap. Send. Wait.

You listen for a reaction from the other room, but all is quiet. 

Matt messages back.

> **> Slut**

Your lips quirk up into a mischievous smile. _Bet his cock’s hard_ , you smirk to yourself. Then again, Matt’s cock is _always_ kinda hard. A second text lights up your screen.

> **> Busy**

Your smile fades into an irritated grimace. You should’ve known the bait wasn’t good enough.

Perhaps texting was the wrong medium. Time to up the ante. 

You slink down the hall, stepping out of your bottoms on the way. Even a few doors away, you can still hear him barking orders about a critical hit or some shit like that.

There’s a moment where you pause—hand on the door, heart pounding in your throat—when you really consider if you want to do this. You know what you’re in for if you turn that handle, that there’s no going back on it…

Then you grin.

_Fuck it._

You know you love pissing him off like this. 

The latch clicks quietly as you open the door, and you slide in inconspicuously. 

His oversized desk is set up parallel to the door, so he doesn’t see you at first—headset on, eyes on his computer monitor, scribbling in his Dungeon Master’s notebook—but he does when he _hears_ you.

Hand shoved between your legs as you work at your clit, you let out a moan loud enough to make it past his headphones.

Matt’s head snaps to the side, the look of rage on his face unmistakable.

“I told you I was fucking _busy_ ,” he seethes, face growing redder and more contorted by the moment.

You don’t miss a beat, fake-pouting at him and dragging your fingers up to your mouth, smearing your cum around your lips.

“But Matty…” you whine, slipping your tongue out to taste yourself.

“You know I’m in the middle of a fucking campaign, you little slut,” he spits, clearly unamused. “You know I don’t have time for this right now.”

Digging your own grave has never been more fun.

“Not even for a little head?” you ask, lower lip puffed out and puppy-eyes turned to eleven.

You’re dead.

He inhales, exhales, nostrils flaring and eyes blown black.

“I have to deal with something, gentlemen,” he says into his headset through clenched teeth.

And then he’s on his feet, spanning the distance between you in swift steps—your body telling you _RUN_ but your brain telling you this was part of the plan.

He grabs you by the hair and starts dragging you back toward his desk. 

You cry out, stumbling along while your follicles scream out at his harsh grip until you’re in front of his computer monitor, fully exposed.

Eyes stinging, you look into the webcam—the reflection of your teary face and bare tits meeting your gaze.

“Say ‘hi’ to everyone, muffin,” he snarls at you.

The searing heat of shame and embarrassment blazes through you like a wildfire.

_They can all see you._

_All of them._

“I said—” he yanks your head closer to the webcam, “—say ‘hi.’” 

His grip is relentless, and the tears start to stream down your cheeks.

“H-h-hhi everyone,” you whimper.

“Someone can’t seem to leave me the fuck alone while we’re playing, guys,” he says to his cohort. “Now who minds if I get some head while we finish up here? No one? Hmm?”

Radio silence. Either you’re not the only person who knows how Matt gets when he’s angry, or you’ve got yourself an interested audience. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

He plops back down in his gaming chair, jerking you down to your knees as he goes. 

Your mouth shouldn’t be watering with the vice grip he has on your scalp, glaring down at you as he pulls the zipper on his jumpsuit from top to bottom… but it is. The ridges of his abs are exposed one by one as the gray fabric parts over his pale skin.

_Fuck._

He really _is_ shredded. 

And he never wears underwear under that fucking jumpsuit.

He pulls out his stiff, red cock—engorged with thick, angry veins and flushed purple at the tip. It looks almost as mad as he does.

“Open wide, muffin.”

Matt has no chill... just in general. But Matt _especially_ has no chill when it comes to fucking your face. 

He slams your head all the way to the base of his cock—rubbing your nose in the thatch of blonde curls resting above it as you retch and sputter, his leaking tip crushing into the back of your soft palate. 

“Take it!” he snaps, indifferent to your gagging. Scalding tears spill from your eyes, snot starting to drip from your nose. “ _Take it!_ ”

You try to vocalize, try to ask for mercy, ask for just a second to adjust—but he just jams your head closer, jams his cock father into your straining mouth… until you finally surrender. He groans, satisfied, as he pushes all the way into your throat.

“That’s better. Now, boys…” he says into the webcam, tilting it down for a prime view of his lap, “... where were we?”

It’s like trying to breathe in a vacuum—try as you might to drag air into your lungs, none will come. That familiar darkness at the periphery of your vision begins to creep in like a specter; the ringing in your ears becomes deafening.

Nonchalant, he pulls you off his cock, enjoying the lovely tendrils of spit connected to your mouth and the way you gasp for air like you’ve been drowning.

He smiles a little. It doesn’t seem like a good sign to you.

Hand still tight in your hair, he pushes you back onto his length, punching into your throat and yanking you off him over and over again, setting a brutal rhythm. He’s even got a free hand to roll the D20. 

You gag and gulp and whimper as he forces sounds from your chest that only his cock can. And despite it all, Matt is just… carrying on with his game.

Fucking unbelievable.

You might complain if you weren’t getting your skull fucked into oblivion. 

And then you remember all the eyes on you. His coworkers. The Starkiller Boys. They’re all watching—studying your tear-stained face and wide-stretched lips, listening to you cough and heave while Matt has his way with your mouth. Matt. The Dungeon Master.

The taste of precum starts to flood your mouth—he’s close. 

He starts to growl, fucking his hips into your face as he jerks your head to meet them.

“You little fucking slut—you just couldn’t wait, could you?” he grunts, whipping his cock out of your mouth and pumping it hard and fast with a tight fist. “Well, open wide.”

You’re so busy trying to suck in air you hardly realize it when he starts to paint your face with thick ropes of hot, white cum. He makes sure to splatter your lips, your eyes, your cheeks—you know, give the boys a good show.

You sit there, slumped and dripping in cum, still trying to catch your breath.

“Clean up,” he orders. “Then back on my cock.” You start to reach for the box of tissues up on his desk, but he swats your hand away. “I said _clean up_.”

Settling back down on your heels, you swipe up the spend sliding down your face with two fingers, licking it up so he can watch. He nods, smiling smugly, then returns his attention to the game while you finish.

“All done,” you say, voice hoarse, sticking out your tongue to show a job well-done.

“Congratulations,” he says flatly. “Cock. Now.”

He’s soft and spent, still twitching from his release. Lifting him up gently, you take him in your mouth. You look up expectantly—does he want more head already?

He doesn’t make eye contact. His spectacled gaze is fixed back on the screen.

“You stay there till I’m hard again. Then I’ll decide what to do with you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Critical Hit

It’s a little glimpse into his inner sanctum. The D20 clicks and clatters against his desk as he rolls. He bellows into the headset. He pays you no mind, even with your lips molded around his cock.

You try your best to stay quiet. If you want any chance at cumming, you’ll do exactly as he says, but his cock starts to twitch against your tongue, thickening more and more by the second. You can feel the veins on his shaft become pronounced, feel the way he lengthens to fill the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. 

You’re just a hole for him, just a comfortable sleeve while he focuses on his game. Best not to spoil things by moving or moaning...

But you can’t help the quiet whimper that slips from your throat as his fully-hard cock presses into your soft palate. 

His eyes snap down to you.

“So. Fucking. Needy,” he spits.

Cunt dripping, your brows pinch together and lift—your pathetic attempt at a puppy-dog face. Your thighs rub together hopelessly where you kneel, even though you know it’s not enough friction to satisfy the ache between your legs. 

“You wanna get fucked? Is that it? You wanna get fucked in front of all my friends?”

You don’t have a good answer to his question, rapidly puffing air through your nose on the base of his cock as you start to whine. You’re acutely aware of the eyes on you, the way they can see the bulge of Matt through your cheeks, the way the rest of your naked body is just out of frame for them. Your clit throbs, but your skin burns hot. You're needy and ashamed and dripping, dripping, dripping.

“Gentlemen, we’re going to have to wrap the campaign next time,” he snarls into his mic.

Hooking his elbows under your arms, he yanks you off his cock with a pop, hauling you to your feet in front of him. He sends the shit on his desk flying with an aggressive swipe of his arm and shoves you back on the cleared space, dragging your ass to the edge. You scramble to cover your tits with your arms and pull your thighs together as he shifts the angle of the webcam to face you. 

“Show me my cumholes,” he orders, eyes icy-cold.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you hitch your legs up by the knees, spreading yourself wide just the way he likes it. He can see your whole cunt like this—your shiny little entrance, your needy-stiff clit protruding from your puffy outer folds—and the tight pucker of your ass, fluttering nervously under his gaze. Face flaring hot, you’re woefully aware of the glossy slick smeared between your thighs… the way the sheen of it reflects into the eye of the webcam pointing directly at you.

“Now which one should I fuck?” he asks.

“ _Pleasefuckmypussy, pleasefuckmypussy, pleasefuckmypussy._ ” Your words are barely more than a whisper, a nearly silent prayer for relief and release that Matt may very well not give you.

“Maybe I’ll fuck that little asshole without lube. That’d teach you…”

“Matty, my pussy’s so wet, please Matty.”

He grabs your jaw, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“What the fuck did you call me, slut?”

“Sowrry… Fuhck…” Your words are garbled by the way his thumb and forefingers crush your cheeks. “ _Master_. Pleaahse, Master.”

“That’s right, cumbucket.” 

He leans over your face, his mouth hovering directly above yours. Slowly, slowly, he lets a clear strand of spit dribble down from his lips, glistening in the blue light from his screen. Cheeks still puckered in the harsh grip of his hand, you let it drip into your mouth, effortfully pinching your lips shut to gulp it down.

“Thahnk youu, Master,” you mumble.

He looks over at the webcam, addressing his audience. “My little muffin _always_ swallows.” For a flickering moment, it almost looks like he’s proud. 

A blissful whimper escapes your lips as he releases you from his clutch, dragging his fingertips down your throat to the rise of your tits. He gives one a sharp slap before picking up the D20.

“If you let go of your legs, you won’t be able to sit down for a fucking week,” he warns. Jiggling the die in his hand, he looks at you dangerously. “Even number and I fuck your ass, odd number and I fuck your cunt.”

He rolls.

_Thirteen._

Matt turns his head back to you sharply. “It’s your lucky day. I guess your pussy _is_ too wet not to fuck,” he muses. “We’ll take care of your ass later.”

He takes himself in hand and lines himself up to strike, pumping his spit-wetted length in preparation for battle. 

He crams his swollen tip into your tight entrance and the burn of it tears straight to the base of your spine, but he doesn’t stop there. Clamping his hand on your shoulder, he impales you on his cock—burying himself to the hilt in one vicious stroke, forcing his way through the clenching defenses of your channel.

It’s like Everclear splashed on your cunt, like being drawn and quartered from the inside out. It rips a guttural scream from your throat. 

“ _Fuck, Matty, it hurts!_ ” 

“Good,” he snarls, impassive.

Matt’s never been one to show mercy on Thursday nights.

He unsheathes his length only to drive it back in just as ruthlessly as before, bludgeoning your cervix with his fleshy head as he sets his pace. You whine high and desperate each time he pounds into you, your teeth gritting as he splits you wide open. 

“So - fucking - noisy!” he barks, punctuating each word with a slam of his hips that gives you fucking vertigo. 

He clamps a hand around your throat and squeezes till the only sounds you can make are clicks and gurgles. The cadence of his hips never slows. 

As your lungs devour the last of your oxygen, you think back to the couch. You could’ve just rubbed your stiff little clit, had a nice little orgasm, watched a little Queer Eye on Netflix. You could’ve left Matt alone. It’s his one night a week to himself. It’s not too much to ask for, really. You didn’t need to interrupt him. You didn’t need to make him this angry…

And just as your vision starts to go all fucky, as the darkness starts to seep in at the edges… he lets go.

You greedily drag air into your hollowed-out torso, the headrush sending you spinning—then three of his fingers are shoved past your lips, stuffing your mouth full while he stuffs your cunt. He pushes back far enough to make you retch, rubbing the freshly-pooled spit down in rough circles on your tongue.

Despite it all, you never forget the eyes on you. You wonder if any of them have taken out their cocks, if they’re fucking their hands just out of frame while watching Matt wreck you.

That is, until Matt scoops the spit from your mouth and slaps your clit with his dripping fingers. 

You shout and curl up off the table as he pinches the swollen bud between his thumb and forefinger, jerking it harshly. 

It’s not the way you touch yourself. 

When you rub yourself off, it’s sweet circles, tight flips of your clit, coaxing yourself upward and upward as you rock your hips into your fingers. It’s soft moans and gasps; it’s the honey-sweet flood of pleasure through your tummy, your fingers, your toes.

Matt rolls and yanks your sensitive peak, sending bolts of white lighting careening through your hips—pleasure-pain that has you teetering on the edge of something cataclysmic.

“You gonna cry, muffin? You gonna cry on my fucking cock, you little slut?” he asks, seeing the unshed tears that well in your eyes, how your mouth hangs open but no sound will fall from it.

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much. 

You wail, hot tears spilling down your cheeks as your pussy gushes and spills on the base of his cock. He fucks you through your orgasm mercilessly—pistoning his hips into yours, his balls slapping against your ass. 

“You wanted to give the boys a fuckin’ _SHOW_ , didn’t you?!”

“Matty please, Matty please,” you sob, cunt clenching and body convulsing.

He’d fuck you till you squirt again, but you’re just squeezing on his cock so nice right now… and he can never resist a good creampie. _Time for dessert._

He pumps his cock inside your spasming pussy as your eyes roll back in your head. Grabbing both of your titties to squeeze and knead, he slams you back to meet him, watching the way his big fat cock disappears into your tight, shiny little hole— _his_ little hole… _all his_. He’s gonna fill you the fuck up. 

His cock pulses mightily as he starts to paint your walls white, shooting rope after rope of cum into your pussy. He groans, feeling his cum squelch around him as he crushes his tip further inside you.

Your head is hazy, spinny, dizzy—but you’re coherent enough to see him pluck the webcam from the top of his monitor and hold it up to your cunt. He pulls out slowly, slowly, slowly, giving the boys a prime view of the way his hot cum dribbles out of your gaping pussy.

“House special,” he chuffs. He turns the camera back on his face, sloppily pushing his glasses straight. “If any of you took screenshots I’ll fucking murder you.”

You don’t think any of Matt’s friends will take his threat lightly.

“K. Great. Bye,” he huffs, exiting out of his programs and turning off the webcam.

You’ve barely gotten your fingers to unclench, nails leaving dark crescents on the back of your thighs, legs trembling.

Matt looks at you, still visibly grouchy.

“Where do you keep your fuckin… bath things,” he asks, zipping up his jumpsuit.

“What?” you croak.

“The fizzy things that make the water different colors and shit.”

“Oh, uh… Third drawer?”

He disappears from the room and you hear the faucet start dumping water into the tub.

_Oh, thank fuck,_ you think, muscles relaxing slightly just thinking about the way warm water will soothe them.

Gingerly shifting yourself up off the desk, Matt reappears just in time to see his cum spill down your inner thighs. He stomps over to you and swipes a trickle up with his fingers, offering it to you like a treat. You suck his fingers clean, searching his eyes to assess his mood… Not livid, but probably still a little pissed.

He wraps your arm around his shoulders to support your weight and helps you over to the bathroom, plopping you into the tub unceremoniously. 

“I picked the orange one. It smells like fuckin ice cream or some shit,” he declares, gesturing at the swirling, perfumed water.

“Thank you, baby,” you smile.

He turns on his heel to leave without a word, but stops short at the door.

“You, uh… you want a pizza bagel?” he asks.

You smile and nod.

He might still be mad… but not mad enough to skip out on feeding you the _other_ house special.

**Author's Note:**

> ················································
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr [@jynzandtonic!](jynzandtonic.tumblr.com) ʕ •ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ 
> 
> [Buy me a whiskey?](ko-fi.com/jynzandtonic)
> 
> _No trigger is too small-- **ask me and I'll tag it!**_
> 
> **A brief note on sex and gender:** I'm AFAB nonbinary, so I while I write for fem!reader (anatomy-wise) and I *do* have a soft spot for certain gendered pet names (which are always tagged if applicable), I hope there's enough space for folx at a variety of places on the gender spectrum to feel included in my fics xoxoxo.
> 
> ················································


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